


honey and milk

by annejumps



Series: oh, honey [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Same-Sex Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:37:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he'd first accepted the offer to work temporarily in the States, Eames had just been meant to train his team, get everyone settled, and then return home to London. Then he'd met Arthur. In his lovesick haze, Eames had essentially forgotten his work visa was going to expire at some point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	honey and milk

  


_(thanks to gessorosso for the lovely label art!)_

_Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue; and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon. -Song of Solomon 4:11_

Eames was standing on the back porch watching Arthur build two new hives when his BlackBerry chimed, indicating he had a new message.

Reluctantly, Eames took it out of his pocket and looked at it. He had really been enjoying watching Arthur work. Although it wasn’t exactly warm out, it was sunny, and Arthur was starting to sweat through his white t-shirt. He was flushed, cursing quietly to himself, annoyed. It was incredibly attractive, only enhanced by Arthur's toolbelt, the dirt on his jeans, and his silky dark brown curls tumbling in his face. Every now and then he'd stop to swoop them back out of his eyes with a little huff. (He felt he needed a haircut, but Eames had been trying to discourage him from getting one just yet.)

Eames had offered to help with the hives, but Arthur had waved him off, distracted by focusing on his charts. Unoffended, Eames had mixed some lemonade instead (sweetened with honey, of course, as Arthur had once shown him) even though he himself was a bit cold. He put on a jacket.

He sipped from his frosty glass now as he opened the message. His boss was asking him to meet early on Monday morning. Eames frowned. His boss was a nice enough woman who rarely felt the need for morning meetings, let alone on Mondays. Something was up. But it was Saturday afternoon, and Eames decided to forget about it until Monday.

Then Arthur walked up the porch steps, smiling at him. Eames put his BlackBerry back in his pocket and picked up Arthur’s glass of lemonade instead, passing it to him and smiling back.

\-------

On Monday morning, Eames actually had forgotten about the meeting until he was in his office, checking his email.

Forty-five minutes later, he thought wistfully of the halcyon days before he'd entered the meeting, and stared blankly at the cold dregs of his tea, forlorn. What was he going to do now?

Arthur texted him after lunch to make sure he'd be coming over for dinner. He replied in the affirmative, and decided he was going to do his best to keep Arthur from finding out about this development as long as possible. It was for his own good.

\-------

Eames was a good actor, he knew. He had figured he'd be able to fake cheerfulness and normality tonight. But either he wasn't as good as he thought or the combination of wine and melancholy was too much for him, because Arthur was looking at him closely, and sure enough, as he brought dessert (honey cake) to the table he finally asked, "Is something wrong? You seem a little upset."

Eames felt a swelling of affection for Arthur, who knew him so well, even as he felt a bit exasperated.

"Well," he began, reluctant, swishing the remaining wine around the bottom of his glass, "it's just... we had a meeting today."

Arthur looked at him, expectant, patiently waiting for him to continue.

"And... and they're moving my job back to London," Eames said, and pressed his lips together, stung by hearing the starkness of his own words aloud.

Arthur's mouth dropped open, his eyes widened, and he seemed to pale a little. In the back of his mind, Eames was flattered to get such a reaction, but that was underneath all the misery he was feeling.

"So... you're leaving?" Arthur's voice was soft, disbelieving.

"I should think I'll have to. They're sponsoring my work visa," Eames said, rueful. He swallowed. "Should be leaving in about six months." Brows knitted together, Arthur nodded slightly, slowly, and sat back in his chair. Eames looked away.

\-------

When he'd first accepted the offer to work temporarily in the States, Eames had just been meant to train his team, get everyone settled, and then return home to London. Then he'd met Arthur. In his lovesick haze, Eames had essentially forgotten his work visa was going to expire at some point. It would be difficult to find another job that would want to sponsor him before his visa expired. He could see about a green card, but he hadn't really researched that, and while he had the vague notion that marriage to a U.S. citizen was the best way to go about accomplishing that, he certainly couldn't suggest it and make Arthur feel pressured. Eames loved Arthur desperately and he knew Arthur loved him as well, but they hadn't known each other for very long, really, only about nine months, and they weren't even living together. So Eames didn't say anything about it.

That week, they weren't as free in calling or texting each other as they usually were, and their dinners were quieter. The knowledge of Eames' leaving sat heavily between them, like the elephant in the room. Eames remembered that saying, "Don't think of an elephant," and found it difficult not to.

The quality of their sex changed, too, their touches more lingering. Arthur was more careful with him, almost reverent. Eames bit his lip every time he caught Arthur watching him consideringly, as if trying to memorize him. As sweet as it was, it made him ache terribly.

One night, as Arthur pressed himself against Eames' back, nose nudging his hairline, he cleared his throat and said, "Eames."

Eames could practically hear him thinking. He went still. "Yes?"

"You know... I don't know if you've thought about it, but you could apply for a green card." Arthur sounded almost shy. Almost. "I've researched it," he continued. Eames smiled despite himself; of course Arthur had researched it. Eames should have guessed he would.

"And, um," Arthur added, “your best option for becoming a permanent resident is via marriage to a U.S. citizen."

Before he could stop himself, Eames looked over his shoulder at Arthur and turned over a bit. "Oh, Arthur, no," he said, and felt a sharp pang when a look of hurt flashed across Arthur's face. "I can't ask you to do that for me," he said gently. "It's too much. If the agents suspect it's a sham marriage, they won't consider it valid."

Arthur looked even more hurt now, and also as if he were trying to hide it. "Would it... would it be a sham marriage?"

Eames' heart clenched. "Darling, we don't even live together. It wouldn't have occurred to you to suggest this if the visa issue hadn't come up."

Arthur frowned. "How do you know that? And I'm not against you living here with me," he added. "I'd been thinking about it but I thought you might not want to live this far from work."

Eames was surprised, but recovered quickly. "Well, all right, but it's rather a moot point now, isn't it?"

Arthur shrugged, looking troubled. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Eames, uncomfortable, cut him off. "Look, don't let's talk about it tonight, all right? We're both tired, we're not thinking properly. You'll come to your senses in the morning."

\-------

Eames was stirring honey into his breakfast oatmeal when Arthur walked over, barefoot and in jeans and his Clash t-shirt, and crouched on the floor beside him. "Have you dropped something?" Eames asked, setting down his spoon and turning to help look. Arthur was on one knee, looking up at him expectantly. "Eames," he began, and Eames clapped both hands to his mouth.

Arthur drew a small box from his pocket, and opened it. Wedged in black velvet was a thick silver band adorned with a small bee.

Eames stared. "When did you get this?"

"You can trade it for another one if you don't like this one," Arthur said, a little sheepish, the tips of his ears pink. "I saw it in a shop window a few weeks ago, and the label said 'Bee Mine,' so...." Arthur trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck.

"A few weeks ago?" Eames said. "You mean, before--"

"Yeah, I mean, I saw it in the window and wanted to get it just in case." Arthur’s entire face was pink now. "I told you you shouldn't have assumed I didn't want to marry you."

Eames was hardly paying attention now; he realized he was trying the ring on. He flexed his hand. "It fits," he announced, surprised. When he looked at Arthur, he was still and waiting, brown eyes wide. Eames went still as well, and Arthur spoke as if cued.

"Eames, will you marry me?" he asked quietly.

There was a silence. Eames scrubbed his hands over his face. Suddenly, the strength with which he wanted this to be real hit him. He slumped. "Arthur, I can't allow this. I won't have you compromising yourself to solve my problem."

Arthur looked at him a long while. "Eames, please do me the honor of believing I want to marry you. I'd already been thinking about it. The visa situation just made me realize how much I wanted it."

Eames was stymied. How could he say no to that? "Well, all right," he said, helpless. "Yes. Yes."

Arthur beamed at him, the big smile, the one where his eyes crinkled up in absolute joy.

\-------

Although Arthur advised against it in case people talked at work and word got around to human resources before Eames was ready to tell them, Eames couldn’t be stopped from wearing his ring at all times and had to restrain himself from going about and flashing it in the office. He was sure it was noticed, but his coworkers were still a bit intimidated by him and no one asked about it, much to his disappointment.

\-------

Eames had the hard task of ringing his mum and explaining that he’d be marrying an American and staying in the States. Prior to the call, he’d fidgeted like mad, chewing his lip. His mum cried a bit, and lamented that this was just like when Eames’ great-aunt Verna was a war bride. Eames politely interjected that perhaps it wasn’t exactly the same, but his mum was too busy sniffling to pay attention. Eames’ father was not at home, but his mum said she’d tell him. Eames was relieved he wouldn’t have to break the news directly to him. Eames’ father had had a difficult enough time understanding that his only son was gay; telling him that said son was marrying an American man and staying in the U.S. was the sort of thing Eames thought his mother might do best handling.

\-------

Arthur wanted to get things moving well before Eames’ visa was scheduled to expire. This meant getting legally married right away. Arthur knew an attorney, Dom Cobb, who advised him that the green card process would have to be started by the applicant’s spouse. (Eames vaguely recalled their meeting Dom at a party, where he and Arthur had bonded over something Eames had found terribly boring, now forgotten.)

They went to the county clerk’s office to apply for a marriage license. Eames was subdued by the quiet halls and the very American dull bureaucratic feel of it all, and was perfectly happy to let Arthur handle the paperwork and the speaking to county employees. He observed; he watched Arthur in his calm efficiency, let it calm him in turn. They split the cash fee.

Eames came home from work some days later to find the -- their -- marriage license on the kitchen table. He stared and stared and didn’t notice Arthur coming up behind him, closing his eyes when Arthur put an arm around him and kissed the back of his neck.

\-------

A few days after that, there were more bureaucratic hoops to jump through in more quiet, drab halls, in the building where Arthur said their civil ceremony would take place. Their state had a two-day waiting period from the issuance of their license, a fact which Eames found far more amusing than did Arthur.

They had no time to coincide what Eames thought of as a wedding with this civil ceremony. Eames was dressed in clothes he’d otherwise wear to work, and Arthur wore khakis and an oxford shirt. Arthur had told him that they would get legally married and then plan for an actual wedding, one where they could dress up properly and have rings and food, and have their friends and families come. His attorney friend had told him that the agents were more likely to quickly approve a green-card-via-marriage application if the couple took the time and trouble to have a real wedding. It seemed weirdly anticlimactic to marry Arthur on paper and then have a wedding months later, but needs must.

When the judge declared them married, Eames brought Arthur’s face to his with a mere light touch of his fingers, Arthur’s hands going to cup his elbows as they kissed, a kiss that lingered slightly despite their location.

(Eames had handed his mobile to a clerk prior to the kiss, asking for a photo. Arthur commended him afterward for thinking to gather more evidence for his case.)

Paperwork collected, they walked to the car smiling, shoulders bumping, and kissed properly in the car before going home.

\-------

That night, due to a potent combination of frazzled nerves and giddiness, they got drunk on mead. (Despite the amount they imbibed, they were saved from being hungover by Arthur’s ensuring that they took some aspirin and drank a lot of water beforehand.)

“You look so much like my first husband,” Eames whispered in Arthur’s ear, smiling, unable to stop kissing him or from wrapping every available limb around him, even if it meant knocking himself into the kitchen table more than once in his determination to get Arthur on the floor, get his clothing out of the way to kiss his stomach, his hipbones. It seemed a brilliant idea to blow him there, Arthur gripping the leg of a chair and causing it to grate against the floor when he came.

They nearly made it to the bedroom for Arthur to return the favor, but were waylaid by how perfect it was to have Eames sit on the stairs, one hand in Arthur’s hair and the other finding Arthur’s hand on his hip, fingers lacing with Arthur’s and squeezing hard as he came, pressing their palms together.

\-------

Although as the American he had a major part in the process anyway, Arthur handled just about all the research and paperwork for Eames’ green card application, the fee for which was not cheap, even though they split it. Arthur said it was a small price to pay for keeping Eames, and added that he kind of enjoyed being in charge of the paperwork, anyway.

It was a long process with a lot of waiting. That did mean, though, that they had plenty of time to plan their small wedding. Arthur wanted to get married on his acreage, perhaps on the back porch steps, on a warm September day. As he cut soap one afternoon, he informed Eames of his visions of outdoor tables over which would hang Mason jar lamps; centerpieces with flowers and fruit and beeswax candles; and other things straight out of _Martha Stewart Living_.

Ariadne, who felt at leave to take certain liberties since she considered herself responsible for Eames and Arthur having met in the first place, took to posting bridal magazines to them. Despite the magazines being meant as a joke, Arthur did in fact page through them and mark the bits he thought relevant. He cut out a page picturing a tiered cake covered in pale yellow fondant impressed with a honeycomb pattern, with a topper shaped like a beehive.

Eames privately didn’t think Arthur’s ideas were terribly creative, but it was charming the way he got so wrapped up in his vision, making lists and such. And, well, it was flattering to have one’s wedding planned with such determination and enthusiasm.

\-------

Eames’ company was not prepared for him to say he had married a U.S. citizen and applied for a green card. Eames wasn’t bothered because he was now free to casually brag of his engagement, show off his ring, and look daggers at anyone who seemed put off by gay marriage (he found he didn’t have to escalate beyond sharp looks). Human resources said they’d try to accommodate him in his current office. If not, of course, it went without saying that since he would no longer depend on them for his work visa, he could work where he liked.

He considered working full-time with Arthur, but that probably wasn’t for the best. That way, they’d be together ‘round the clock, and Eames knew he’d feel stifled. Besides, Arthur needed breaks from him hanging about. And after all, if they were never apart, how could they passionately reunite?

Although his lease wouldn’t expire for some time, Eames started moving his things over to Arthur’s house, and he started staying there most nights. It certainly would help convince the immigration agents they occasionally met with. He and Arthur went running together around the perimeter of the property almost every morning, and usually showered together before Eames went to work. And that wasn’t always about sex; sometimes it was more about washing each other’s hair, lathering up each other’s backs and just talking. And if that led to at least kissing, well. They were married, after all.

It was difficult to grasp, sometimes, that he was married to Arthur. He wondered if he’d always be mildly surprised and even a bit alarmed by that fact, if he’d ever get used to Arthur being his husband. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to get used to it, as unsettled as he was sometimes by the reality of it. He enjoyed that sudden feeling of startlement: _Oh, Arthur’s my husband. We’re married. Oh._

\-------

In addition to keeping bees, Arthur was getting more interested in vegetable gardens, and in growing roses and sunflowers to experiment with what attracted bees. He wanted to have squash, melons, tomatillos, and peppers, and planned to start making salsas, and pickling and canning things. There was a sizeable produce stand in the parking lot near Ariadne’s store, and Arthur talked to the owner about selling his new wares there under the Arthur’s Arcadia label.

He developed a great interest -- Eames called it an obsession -- with heirloom vegetables and seeds. He planted more berry bushes, and wanted to plant more fruit trees, for jams and jellies as well as for the bees. Eames suggested throwing in some grapevines as well, and found himself redrawing Arthur’s precise, practical layouts of the garden in favor of something more visually engaging. Arthur protested that there were extremely valid horticultural reasons for his grouping certain plants together, and fussed at Eames at great length. It was very entertaining. Eventually, they drew up a compromise.

Arthur was even considering keeping chickens; in addition to selling the eggs, he could use the chickens’ manure for the plant beds. He had gone so far as to sketch out plans for a coop and chicken run, although Eames voiced objections to being awakened by roosters at the crack of dawn. “Surely between the two of us we’ve the perfect number of cocks ‘round here.” Arthur reassured him that they didn’t have to have a rooster unless they wanted to have chicks. Eames replied that he had never been all that interested in chicks, but that he liked to think he was open-minded.

(Ariadne teased Arthur about being a hipster, claiming that growing your own vegetables, pickling things, and keeping chickens was trendy, but Eames found that difficult to believe and Arthur dismissed the very notion.)

All this, and Arthur was doing most of the wedding planning, and working on Eames’ green card case as needed. Eames felt a bit guilty that Arthur had taken on so much, even though his office was at home and he enjoyed all the work.

To make himself useful, Eames helped with what he could after work, did most of the cooking and washing up, and busied himself with building a swing for the garden. (Arthur liked to pause in his work to sit on the back porch steps and openly ogle him as he did; Eames did love an appreciative audience, and one notable evening Arthur had been so moved by the sight of Eames lifting and nailing things and wiping sweat from his brow as to order Eames -- “C’mere,” he’d started, unbuttoning his jeans -- to suck him off right there. There were certainly benefits to living out in the middle of nowhere.)

\-------

Arthur found a caterer who specialized in small outdoor events, and who was interested in incorporating Arthur’s honey into the recipes. They put together a menu where every course had honey in it. Yusuf had some suggestions Arthur found new and refreshing. With his being an immigrant, he turned out to be a great friend for Eames, who could complain to him about the various problems he encountered in America, problems Arthur and Ariadne didn’t understand, such as the fact that American robins were all wrong. Yusuf took to coming over to talk with Arthur and then to hang about for teatime with Eames, talking football.

Eames wasn’t sure whether time with Yusuf made his homesickness better or worse. Probably both. As much as Eames wanted to stay with Arthur, and couldn’t countenance leaving him, he was still an Englishman. He and Yusuf once made the mistake of watching _Bend It Like Beckham_ one afternoon and by the time Arthur came back from making deliveries, the two of them had worked each other into such a fit of nostalgia that they were practically in tears, to Arthur’s bemusement.

\-------

Eames woke up one Saturday morning to the smell of coffee; Arthur was sitting up in bed next to him, glasses on, drinking from the Winnie-the-Pooh mug Eames had bought him as a gag, and looking through a brochure. He noticed Eames was awake. “I think this is where we should stay for our honeymoon,” he said, handing him the leaflet, which was for a lakeside cabin. Groggy and lacking in tea, Eames picked it up and looked through it as Arthur set his mug aside and settled in next to him, leaning on his shoulder.

The cabin seemed nice enough from the photographs. “Whatever you think best, darling,” Eames said, lethargic and warm. He stretched like a cat without dislodging Arthur.

“I also think,” Arthur mused, “that we should save up for a real trip later on, once it won’t violate the terms of your permanent residency, and spend a couple weeks in England.”

Eames turned and pressed him into the bed, visiting kisses upon his dear face. Lovely, perceptive Arthur.

“And visit Paris,” Arthur added hastily. One delightfully satisfying blowjob later, Eames was more than happy to agree to the Paris addendum.

\-------

Eames had never seen Arthur in a proper suit before. He gaped, watching Arthur examine the Irish linen in the three-way mirror.

Arthur was dressed in a light brown summer suit. His tie was a subtly patterned dark yellow, his shirt a pale cream. He even had on a waistcoat. Eames couldn’t stop staring. The colors brought out the golden tones in Arthur’s dark hair and made his eyes look especially warm and bright.

“This one,” Eames said.

“Eames, this is the first outfit I’ve tried on.”

“Get it.”

Arthur treasured opportunities to indulge his clothes-horse whims -- it was a pity that he was so often at home or in the garden rather than out showing off, Eames sometimes thought -- and tried on some more things anyway, though ultimately he went with the outfit Eames liked, and would be getting it tailored to fit perfectly.

As for Eames, it took a while for them to track everything down, but Arthur liked best a darker brown tweed jacket, a crisp white shirt, and vintage pleated trousers with cuffs in a lightweight wool. They decided against a tie for him; he could have a yellow pocket square.

Eames got new loafers and Arthur bought some new wingtips. Every time Eames caught a glimpse of their new clothes and shoes in the -- their -- closet, he caught his breath at how real it was all starting to seem. Somehow, even with all the planning they’d been doing (not to mention the fact that they were already married), it was the sight of their shoes placed neatly in the closet, as if patiently waiting together, that made his heart skip a beat.

\-------

There was the matter of Arthur’s ring.

Eames thought and thought. He fretted to himself over what Arthur might want best, but he still wanted it to be a surprise. Arthur knew Eames would be getting him a ring, but he had essentially left Eames to his own devices in finding it. “You’ll be fine,” he’d assured him.

Arthur tended toward simple styles, nothing ostentatious, but with occasional flourishes. But Eames also found himself thinking about what he himself would want to see on his husband’s (beautiful) hand.

He took one of Arthur’s rings that he knew fit him to the jeweler, and selected an 18-karat gold wedding band in the proper size, smooth and sleek, just the right width.

“Would you like anything engraved on the inside?” the jeweler asked. Eames almost didn’t hear him; he was busy imagining this elegant ring on Arthur’s finger. It was perfect.

Eames closed his eyes and thought for a moment, but the answer came to him, simple and clear. “‘My darling.’ In lowercase script, please.”

(“Bought your ring today,” he said when he got home, smug. “Let me see it,” Arthur demanded. “No, it’s still at the jeweler’s, isn’t it?” Eames replied. “Have to engrave it with ‘Eames’ Favorite Bossy Stubborn Handsome Wanker.’” “Will that fit on the ring?” Arthur asked.)

\-------

Arthur suggested they write their own vows. Eames thought this sounded like a good idea at first, but many drafts later he couldn’t help wishing for pre-packaged, dependable sentiment. But then, he knew anything that had already been written wouldn’t be able to express exactly how he felt about Arthur. He considered improvising the entire thing.

Arthur ordered a great many small glass jars and began pouring honey into them to make wedding favors. Eames set out the empty jars on the kitchen table, lidded them after Arthur filled them, and applied the labels, which he had designed; he had an eye for such things. (He had also designed the wedding invitations.) He was, of course, quite good at it, but it was very boring. Once he was caught up in lidding and labeling and was waiting for Arthur, he leaned back against the counter and watched him, smiling, until Arthur reddened and told him he should make himself useful by helping pour.

That afternoon was quite hot, and after helping Arthur prune in the garden for a while, Eames went to get them some lemonade. He stretched out in the hammock after drinking his fill, Arthur’s glass waiting for him on the porch rail.

Arthur ambled up the porch steps, skin pink with sun and effort, and peeled his shirt off before picking up his glass. In the shade provided by the closed-in section of the porch that formed his workroom, he drank, and Eames watched him: sweat dripping down his chest, his throat working as he swallowed. “C’mere,” Eames beckoned, holding out his arms.

“I’m all sweaty,” Arthur half-protested, smiling, setting down his glass and walking over. “I know,” Eames replied, taking his hand and pulling him into the hammock to stretch out alongside him. He hooked a leg over Arthur’s, cupping his jaw and kissing him, tasting the cool sweetness of the lemonade and the heat of his mouth. Arthur hummed, shifting to be pressed back into the hammock as Eames moved to lie on top of him. He kissed Arthur’s jaw, down his neck; one of Arthur’s hands pulled at his t-shirt as the other tugged at his sweat-damp hair. Eames licked at the sweat that had settled along Arthur’s collarbone, feeling Arthur’s faint shiver at that.

Arthur arched under him as Eames closed his teeth gently on a nipple. “Shirt off, shirt off,” Arthur insisted, lovely and salty. With a mock growl of protest, Eames sat up enough to let Arthur get his shirt off before descending to kiss him again. Arthur slung a leg over his hips, the hammock rocking as he squeezed Eames’ ass firmly with both hands, pulling him to grind their cocks together through their shorts. Arthur made soft little greedy sounds, squirming as Eames sucked a hickey into his neck (“We’ll show that to the agents, shall we” he’d say upon noticing it later that night) and licked at his slick skin.

Eames worked a hand between them, under Arthur’s shorts and into his underwear, falling onto his side as Arthur squirmed to get a hand in Eames’ pants in turn. Frantic with need, they tugged each other’s clothes out of the way only as much as was needed, and Arthur laughed breathlessly as he pushed his cock into Eames’ tight grip.

“Something funny?” Eames murmured, gasping as Arthur’s hand found him with a caressing squeeze. He closed his eyes, biting his lip at how almost painfully good it felt when Arthur slid a thumb over the head of his cock.

“Nothing’s funny,” Arthur said, and when Eames opened his eyes he saw such warmth in Arthur’s eyes that he had to kiss him.

Arthur came first, limbs stretching languidly as he panted into Eames’ mouth, and he pressed his weight into Eames, who curled his toes and shuddered hard those last few strokes as he melted into bliss.

“We were going to have to shower anyway,” Arthur murmured into Eames’ neck, smiling against his skin.

\--------

Eames had an idea that his approval might not be guaranteed, that he’d be denied, sent back to England to pine for his American husband. He was so caught up on the tragic romanticness of it all that, while the possibility deeply troubled him, he was almost disappointed every time the attorney Arthur had contacted through Cobb reported that things were going well. Arthur was frazzled by the waiting and the uncertainty, however, and had started biting his nails.

One evening, when Arthur was at an apiarists’ club meeting, Eames sat on the back porch steps drinking mead and smoking, watching moths spin dizzily around the porch light and bats loop through the purple sky. He had been restless in the quiet farmhouse, alone, and his mind had wandered to the terms of his bid to stay with Arthur, the way the green card would anchor him here for years. There was a time when he’d only wanted Arthur to love him back, and now he did and they were legally married, for God’s sake, and it thrilled and terrified Eames all at once. It wasn’t that he felt stuck, really. It was just that his once seemingly endless choices had suddenly narrowed to going back to England or being with Arthur, and now he was well down the path of one choice which hadn’t seemed like a choice at all, because it was Arthur.

Arthur, from the look on his face when he got home, did catch the smell of smoke on Eames, but he didn’t say anything about it, and Eames didn’t bring it up.

\-------

Eames came home one day to find Arthur on the porch, standing on a stepladder to screw something into the ceiling. Leaning against the railing was a large, black, cylindrical object.

“Is that a punching bag?” Eames said with interest.

Arthur tugged on the hook in the ceiling to test it, and made his way back down the stepladder. “Yup,” he said. “For you.”

“Why?” Eames wondered.

“For stress relief,” Arthur said with a shrug and a tone which suggested this was rather obvious.

“Well. Thank you, darling,” Eames said, pleased. “I rather suspect, however, that you were motivated in part by a desire to watch me punch things with my shirt off.”

“Why do you think I put it by the kitchen window?” Arthur replied.

\-------

With days to spare, Arthur was spending more and more time at his desk. He was hunched over behind closed doors, going over the plans again and again, sure he was forgetting something.

Two days before the wedding, Eames went by the toy store after work and got two outlandishly sized and brightly colored water guns -- water rifles, more like. The next day, in the warmest part of the afternoon, he took them from their packaging, and surreptitiously filled them with water while Arthur worked in his office. Carrying them both, he went out in the yard, and called for Arthur to come out.

When Arthur stepped out into the yard and stood with his hands on his hips, looking around for him with narrowed eyes, Eames ran from around the side of the house and sprayed Arthur liberally across the chest, then wolf-whistled at how the wet white shirt clung to him. He threw Arthur the other rifle, and then ran.

Eames led Arthur on a merry chase three times around the house before Arthur took hold of his soaked shirt and got him to the ground. Muddy and wet, Arthur astride his hips, Eames was laughing so hard it wasn’t difficult for Arthur to kiss him breathless.

\-------

Eames had flown his parents over; his father had been surprisingly well-tempered about it all and seemed to like Arthur. Arthur’s parents had arrived as well, and everyone would be staying at a hotel. Arthur’s sister was the last to arrive.

Arthur, Eames had learned, was the youngest of two children, his older sister Eloise being an overachiever and a doctor. Arthur came from money, and had a trust fund, and had been expected to go to law school. This naturally was why, as the rebellious little brother, he’d gotten a Ph.D. in entomology and fucked off to the middle of nowhere (as his family saw it) to study bees (which was almost a relief to them, Arthur having once threatened to join the military). Eames had pieced this portrait together from bits of information over time rather having everything directly explained to him by Arthur himself.

Eames accompanied Arthur to pick up Eloise at the airport the morning before their wedding day. She was beautiful and poised despite having just gotten off a plane, long dark hair flowing down her back. She greeted Arthur with a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek, both of them dimpling like mad. Arthur introduced Eames, who smiled despite Eloise’s sharp, assessing gaze, which was only somewhat tempered by her polite smile. When Arthur turned to pick up her bags, she murmured to Eames, “If you’re using my little brother, or if you hurt him in any way, trust that I know more than enough about the human body to make you regret it.”

Eames beamed. It was Arthur’s violent streak all over. No one made more precise, elegant threats. Of course, Arthur’s threats were usually aimed at recalcitrant inanimate objects.

He took Eloise’s hand and kissed it. “Arthur,” he announced, “I may marry your sister instead.”

Arthur scoffed. “She wouldn’t have you.”

Eloise hadn’t pulled her hand away. “It’s true,” she said gravely, “I wouldn’t.”

Eames put his free hand to his heart. "Stop it. Did Arthur tell you that sarcasm and threats are the way to my affections?"

Eloise laughed, and Arthur just rolled his eyes, grinning.

\-------

Eames awoke to Arthur saying from somewhere under his chin, where Arthur had tucked himself, “Eames. This is your last chance to not marry me and to go home.”

“We’re already married, and I am home,” Eames slurred with a yawn before falling back asleep.

Arthur extricated himself from under Eames’ arm sometime later, waking him again. “Eames,” he said loudly, standing, pulling the covers off. “You know what I meant. Get up. We’re getting married today.” His tone was almost grim.

“Are we really?” Eames said, mild. “I was wondering what all the fuss was about.” Arthur wasn’t smiling. Eames sat up, took his hand, and pulled him closer, giving him a questioning look. Arthur dropped his gaze and sighed.

“Arthur, love,” Eames said gently, rubbing his thumb lightly over Arthur’s hand, “you are well and truly stuck with me, sorry to say.” A bit of the tension drained from the line of Arthur’s shoulders, and he smiled. Eames clambered out of bed and kissed Arthur on the nose. “Come on, then, we’re getting married today. Even though we’re already married,” he added, walking to the loo.

\-------

Eloise was the first to arrive at the house, to organize things as the others arrived and to get her brother in order. Evidently, bossy control-freaks ran in the family.

Showered and dressed, they allowed her to place their boutonnieres, straighten Arthur’s tie and Eames’ pocket square, and make sure loose threads were absent from their jackets. Looking out the window, Arthur remarked that Yusuf and his employees had finished setting up the tables, and had started unloading the food. Eames joined him at the window, struck speechless. There were actually people, their family and friends, filling the folding chairs they’d neatly set out earlier that day. Yusuf’s people were putting Arthur’s centerpieces on the reception tables; Eames could see Ariadne helping direct things. He could see his and Arthur’s parents talking in the shade of an oak tree.

Eloise told them to come on down to the kitchen. They’d wait there until all the guests were seated, and they’d walk out together.

In the kitchen, they were met by the photographer, a melancholy-seeming man named Robert who had large blue eyes. Dom had said that photographs provided excellent evidence for green card cases, not that Eames would have had any objections to being photographed regardless. Robert took some frames of them in the kitchen, and then went outside so that he could get shots of them coming out.

Eames was suddenly nervous. He fingered Arthur’s ring in his pocket as he watched Robert go out the door the two of them would soon leave by, and even though they were already married, Eames was thinking of their entrance back into the kitchen by that same door as sealing their marriage. He had a brief flash of carrying Arthur over the threshold and inwardly lamented that Arthur would never allow such a thing, at least not with any other people around.

Lost in thought, he started when he felt Arthur gently touch the small of his back. He turned to Arthur, who nodded briefly toward the door. Eames took his hand, and they walked out onto the sunlit porch, and down the steps.

\-------

Eames felt more in his element now, things having begun, with people smiling at him and his lovely husband as they walked down the aisle to where the officiant stood. The officiant was actually a gorgeous Frenchwoman named Mal, whom Dom had somehow gotten to marry him. Eames liked her quite a bit; he hadn’t the slightest idea what she really did for a living but it was wonderful hearing her speak about all sorts of romantic things in the lead-up to their exchanging vows.

Arthur went first. He looked right at Eames as he talked about how honey almost never spoiled because it was so sweet, how it could last practically forever if stored properly. He then explained that this was a metaphor for their relationship. Eames did his best not to laugh, and kept smiling instead. That was not difficult to do, as Arthur expounded upon how lucky he was that Eames was going to stay here with him. Eames could picture Arthur sitting at his desk, making a list of the things he wanted to say and generally looking adorably thoughtful.

Then it was Eames’ turn. He improvised. He talked about how much he loved to see Arthur’s dimples because that meant he was happy; and how competent, intelligent, and considerate he was. He said he would do anything to stay at Arthur’s side, but that hopefully all he would have to do is have his green card application approved. He resisted looking at the agent after he said that part.

Mal told them to exchange rings. Arthur returned Eames’ ring to his hand; he’d missed it since last night. Eames took Arthur’s ring from his pocket. This would be the first time Arthur would have even seen it. Eames made sure he saw the engraving before he put it on Arthur’s finger. Arthur beamed at him.

Mal talked about how their rings bound them together, and told them to kiss to seal their love and commitment before all present. Smiling, their mouths met, and they kissed briefly but deeply. Arthur’s gaze when Eames reluctantly stepped back from him was heated. Eames swallowed, slightly surprised by the bolt of lust he felt at that amid all this sweetness.

Mal presented them as married, naming them two halves of a whole. Eames was vaguely aware of Robert discreetly moving about and snapping pictures of them as they went back up the aisle, hand in hand. The recessional music began to play, the rasp of needle on vinyl carrying over the simple speaker system.

And this was Eames’ surprise for Arthur; unbeknownst to him, he had overridden Arthur’s choice for their recessional music, which was Bach. Nice enough, but Eames had something better in mind: Edith Piaf’s “Hymne à l'amour.” Arthur was a fan, and knew French; Eames knew he loved this song despite, or perhaps because of, how melodramatic it was. Regardless, it was gorgeous. When the music started, Arthur glanced at Eames, eyes speaking volumes, and squeezed his hand.

They walked over to the table that was set up just for them, as the guests went to their own tables. Eames wished everyone would leave so that he and Arthur could go upstairs to their bedroom, but that was not a possibility. Eames was at least glad there wasn’t to be any dancing to delay them even further.

Yusuf and his employees had poured many little flutes of Champagne, and everyone had one. As his employees scurried about, Yusuf gave a little speech, and toasted them. Then Dom gave one, and then Eloise, and then Ariadne.

In short order, everyone was served the first course, and began eating. Eames found he was terribly hungry. It took some time to get through the courses, all of which were delicious, which was only right since they all contained Arthur’s honey.

During the meal the sun started to set, and the candles were lit. There were fireflies about, leading Arthur to inform Eames of the coordinated flashing displays put on by massive amounts of fireflies in the trees lining riverbanks in Malaysia.

Together, they cut the cake for dessert, and went around to each table to talk to everyone. Eames’ father still seemed to be in a good mood, his mother was almost in happy tears, and Arthur’s parents were lovely as usual. The co-workers Eames liked best were here, as were a number of Arthur’s friends. But it was indeed a small wedding, which was fine with Eames.

They hadn’t asked for gifts (Arthur had asked instead for donations to an organization that helped people in developing nations keep bees) but they did have a few, after all. They opened those, and Eames was beginning to get blurry with exhaustion. Eloise, bless her, noticed, and started to help Yusuf close up shop. It was dark now, and Arthur and Eames said their goodbyes, received cheek-kisses, and saw everyone off.

With everyone gone, with just the light from the back porch guiding them they went back into the kitchen. In the dark, Eames pressed Arthur against the closed door and kissed him and kissed him.

\-------

They had decided to spend their wedding night at home and strike out for the cabin the next day. They were both so tired that after getting ready for bed, they didn’t have much energy for anything else. Arthur stretched out with a yawn and Eames pressed himself to Arthur’s back, an arm over him. Eames figured at some point during the night Arthur would, as usual, wake up overheated and get out from under his arm, but it was worth it to nestle up close to him like this before they fell asleep.

They dropped off into sleep almost immediately. Some hours later, Arthur did wake up, or seemed to, at least -- he was definitely shifting restlessly back against Eames’ hardening cock. If it was a dream, it was a good one, Eames thought groggily.

“What do you need, pet,” he whispered against the soft skin behind Arthur’s ear, fingers stroking over Arthur’s stomach, where he was slightly damp with sweat.

Breathing hard, Arthur reached behind himself to curl his fingers tightly in Eames’ pajama trousers. “Had a dream.”

“Well, I am here to make your dreams come true,” Eames purred, slightly smug. “Within reason,” he added as an afterthought, taking the hint and shifting to get his trousers off as Arthur tugged.

“I need you to fuck me,” Arthur growled in a tone that went straight to Eames’ cock.

Arthur usually topped, as it appealed to his desire for control and his need to take care of Eames. When he wanted to bottom, though, nothing thrilled Eames more than to have Arthur cede control to him and just _need_. Arthur was demanding as a bottom, but past a certain point he was in Eames’ hands entirely, and such trust shook Eames to his core. The fact that Eames was, for all intents and purposes, the only one who'd be giving him what he needed from now on was enough to send a shudder through him.

“Eames,” Arthur said insistently, getting his own trousers off, and Eames broke from his reverie to concentrate on the task at hand, taking everything off hastily and reaching to get the lube. He nearly asked whether Arthur wanted to prep himself, but figured that would earn him more impatience, and although Arthur was adorable when impatient, perhaps now was not the time.

Fingers liberally slicked, he felt his way, Arthur’s entire body going tense and then pliant as he exhaled, making a soft needy sound and pressing back against Eames again. “It’s all right, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Eames murmured roughly, shaking just a little in his own eagerness. Pressing a kiss to the back of Arthur’s neck, he felt him rock into the movement as Eames fucked him with his fingers, slow and rather shallow, wanting Arthur to ask him for more. He did in short order, and Eames, with the two of them still on their sides, worked his cock into Arthur, who almost couldn’t keep still. When Eames was as deep as he could get, he wrapped his slick hand around Arthur, who groaned low in his throat, hand going to grasp Eames’ wrist, his top leg hooking back over Eames’ legs in an attempt to take him deeper. Eames closed his eyes and pressed his mouth to Arthur’s hairline, inhaling the scent of his shampoo, a slight hint of his sweat.

There was not a great deal of mobility or power in this position, but Eames could hardly complain. Arthur had wanted his cock inside him and now he had it, and for the time being seemed happy to work himself on it, however groggy they both might be. He was squirming and making the loveliest restless-sounding noises, and when Eames nipped the back of his neck he shivered all over, pushing himself forward into Eames’ hand.

Eames did, however, start to feel himself driven more and more toward a very strong need to turn Arthur over and fuck him into the bed. Suddenly, it could no longer be denied. He gave Arthur a squeeze that made him gasp, and released him to a groan of protest, which was quickly muffled by the pillow as Eames moved him. Arthur recovered, squirming, to spread his legs as his front met the mattress.

Eames pressed his knees into the bed and planted his hands on either side of Arthur, chest plastered against his back. Arthur’s body had gone hot and trembling all over, even moreso than before, most likely in a heretofore unknown but not unexpected reaction to being pinned under Eames’ weight. Before, whenever he’d bottomed, he’d been on top. Eames made a mental note.

Now with proper leverage, Eames was able to put forward the proper amount of effort, as Arthur deserved.

Raised up slightly on his elbows but with his head dropped forward, Arthur rested his ankles on the backs of Eames’ legs, rocking his pelvis into the bed for the friction. As flexible as he was, Arthur, surprisingly, was not writhing a great deal. That didn’t mean, however, that he wasn’t fully engaged. Jaw slack, panting, he was moving in counterpoint to Eames as if utterly focused on and minutely attuned to the feeling of Eames inside him.

“You can come like this, I know you can, without a hand on you,” Eames murmured into his ear, and Arthur actually whimpered. That was nearly Eames’ undoing. He wouldn’t have thought it possible to make Arthur whimper.

Arthur did love a challenge, and hated to disappoint. Eames clung to the thought of how much he wanted Arthur to come on his cock, and miraculously managed to keep himself going despite how Arthur’s breaths were getting higher, faster, and more frantic.

Arthur’s hands gripped great fistfuls of the sheets. Eames looked at his left hand, the gold band gleaming in the low light. He reached for it, covered it with his own. Arthur immediately spread his fingers, and Eames worked his into the spaces between.

\-------

**Epilogue**

Eames heard Arthur stamping the snow from his boots on the front porch, before bringing in the post to the kitchen, where Eames sat drinking tea and thinking of nothing in particular.

Without a word Arthur handed him a very official-looking envelope. Catching on quickly, Eames glanced up at Arthur, then ripped open the envelope. Arthur sat across from him at the table, silent.

Eames caught the word “welcome” in the top section of the form, and his heart skipped a beat. He scanned to the actual beginning of the letter, and read aloud.

“‘Welcome to the United States of America. This is to notify you that your application for permanent resident status has been approved.’”

He looked at Arthur, who was beaming, and handed him the letter. Taking it in one hand, Arthur took Eames’ hand with the other, and read it. Eames watched him, quiet.

“You should get your actual card in about three weeks,” Arthur told him, setting the letter down, still smiling.

“Cheers,” Eames said, taking a sip of tea, beaming back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Liz, Amy, and Julia for reading this over; Darcy for Arthur’s sister’s name when I couldn’t decide; and Lauren for a bit of information on Maryland.
> 
> The charity Arthur wants people to donate to in lieu of gifts is [Heifer.org](https://secure1.heifer.org/gift-catalog/honeybees.html).
> 
> Edith Piaf’s song, ["Hymne à l'amour,"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1gTGmbA40ZQ), and the [lyrics](http://lyricstranslate.com/en/l039hymne-l039amour-hymn-love.html).


End file.
